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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011620">Spitfire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321'>janto321 (FaceofMer)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Developing Relationship, Fighter Pilots, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:01:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is a spitfire pilot and Greg is his mechanic</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spitfire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mycroft made his way into the hanger just before sunset. A cool breeze blew across the airfield. Lestrade was standing by Mycroft's Spitfire, making a few last adjustments before the night's run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lestrade looked up at him, giving him that warm, cheeky smile. "All ready for you," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft nodded in return, ignoring the feeling that smile always ignited low in his belly. There was a time and a place and right now he needed to be preparing for his mission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lestrade moved away from the plane and went to open the hangar doors. He could hear other hangars opening as the squadron prepared for the night's mission. He glanced over at where the other Spitfire in this hanger should be, but it was empty; he'd gone down over the channel a week ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft didn't know the other pilot well. He tended to keep himself aloof. It was safer that way. Lestrade was the only one who seemed to get under his skin, but he wasn't under as much danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a breath, Mycroft walked around his plane, going over his preflight checklist. As always, the plane was in tip-top shape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lestrade came over to hold the ladder as Mycroft climbed into the cockpit. "Good luck, sir," he said; a small ritual in these uncertain times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You too," said Mycroft, closing the cockpit and settling in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He taxied out to join the rest of his squad, taking his leadership position as they headed for the runway. One more deep breath and a quick prayer and he was hurtling himself up into the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a freedom in the sky, fringed by danger, especially as they moved over the land and towards the channel. Anxiety settled into his spine as the dark water passed underneath the belly of his plane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands were steady on the controls as they moved over enemy territory. Tonight's targets weren't far, but that didn't mean the danger was lessened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, the bursts of anti-aircraft guns were soon flickering against the sky. The squadron spread out automatically, shifting through the thin clouds, noses pointed towards the target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly the roar of enemy planes cut through the steady drum of the artillery. Mycroft rose up higher into the sky, looking for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silver glinted in the thin moonlight. Mycroft dove at the nearest target, guns alight. Somewhere on the ground, a bomb exploded as the first target was hit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments like these were always a blur. Man and machine acting as one as they rolled and dove through the sky. Bullets struck his fuselage, but he barely noticed as he dropped his own bombs and then dove out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash lit up the night as one of his planes took a direct hit, but there was barely a chance to look for a parachute. Job done, he fired on the enemy aircraft as he turned again for home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More bullets struck his plane and he heard his engine start to sputter. But the channel was in sight. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take over chancing his parachute at night in enemy territory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the other squadron planes moved closer to him, no doubt to keep eyes on him in case he got into real trouble. The enemy broke off as they got out past the reach of the anti-aircraft guns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His plane dipped but he fought to keep it under control. Lestrade knew what he was doing and he was pretty sure the mechanic would have his hide if he didn't land with at least some parts of his plane intact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like hours to get across the channel and back over English soil. Twice he had a real fear he'd have to ditch, but the trusty plane somehow kept going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then at last there was the airfield. The plane that had stayed close by turned away so that he could land first. Mycroft whispered another prayer as he aimed for the runway, glancing at the windsock and adjusting accordingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screech of rubber on tarmac never sounded so sweet as it did that night. Mycroft managed to bring the plane to a stop and sat there, shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Lestrade was there with the ladder, opening the cockpit. "Are you hurt?" he asked, reaching in to unbuckled Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know," said Mycroft, faintly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lestrade glanced behind him and then shifted to help Mycroft up and out of the plane. Mycroft was aware of people moving around the heavily damaged aircraft but he could only think of how nice it felt when Lestrade put his arms around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow Lestrade got him down the ladder and onto solid ground. Mycroft's knee buckled and Lestrade caught him. "You got hit in the leg," he said. "Come on, we'll get you to medical."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft glanced down, seeing blood on his trousers. "I brought your plane back," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I'm glad, but I'm more happy you brought you back," said Lestrade, putting him into a waiting car and getting behind the wheel himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was feeling lightheaded. He looked up at the stars as Lestrade drove quickly across the airfield.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stay with me, Mycroft," muttered Lestrade, reaching over to squeeze his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft raised his head. "You used my name."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We've been working together long enough I think I'm allowed," said Lestrade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll forgive you," said Mycroft, struggling to sit up a bit as they neared their destination. "Provided you agree to dinner with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sweetheart, you just worry about not dying on me," said Lestrade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is it a deal, then?" said Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Absolutely." Lestrade brought his hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles before dropping it quickly as they came to a stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, Greg," said Mycroft as the door was opened and others were helping him out and onto a stretcher. He kept an eye on Greg for as long as he could, then closed his eyes and passed out in moments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Mycroft came to again he was laying in a bed, his leg in a cast and arm bandaged. A nurse looked over at him as he moved, then stepped out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A doctor came in a moment later and stepped to Mycroft's side. "You're going to be grounded for a bit," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can tell," said Mycroft, looking down at himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The leg is fractured. Your arm was just a graze, but we wanted to make sure it didn't get infected. You're lucky."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain was starting to radiate up from his leg and he closed his eyes against it. "I'll get you something for the pain," said the doctor, patting his good arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a little while he was sent home to recover. Mycroft had a small flat near the airfield, all his own. Luckily it was on the first floor. He was glad not to see any of the other pilots as he let himself inside. The last thing he needed was pity. He'd done his job, same as all the rest of them. He'd be back up in the air as soon as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put his crutches aside and hobbled to his sofa, scrubbing his face in his hands. A knock on the door got his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come in," he called, not wanting to get up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg opened the door, carrying fish and chips. He'd cleaned up a bit from his normally grimy self, though there was still grease under his fingernails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling at Mycroft, he closed the door behind him and came over. "You said dinner, so I thought I'd bring it to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I appreciate that," said Mycroft, suddenly hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sat down next to him and set out the containers. "It's probably just as well you're laid up for a bit, the plane is going to take some work."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know the results?" asked Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"From what I understand the target was destroyed. You lost one plane and pilot, but you were the worst hurt of the lot."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The pilot might have been captured," said Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll find out soon enough if he was," said Greg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked at him. "I needed to get back to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg met his gaze for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed him gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sighed softly and kissed him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eat," said Greg, breaking the kiss and gesturing at the food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, sir," said Mycroft turning to the food and knowing that this was just the start of something amazing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I got inspired by <a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EkNToHQXkAAHRsv?format=jpg&amp;name=medium">this picture</a></p><p>Much thanks to beltainefaerie for the beta</p></blockquote></div></div>
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